The burdens loom. On the horizon of our minds, a storm gathers. The frightfulness of rearrangement imposes itself as a giant shadow figure. Imminence. We’ve seen that our current ways are no longer tenable, that processes must be adjusted, and that there is an inevitability of unwanted growth. The time of change is upon us.
We have lapsed into the old addictions and recovery must start again.
The things we wanted to see happen are gathering momentum and the mountain suddenly feels too difficult to climb.
The old life routines must change, we can count the new sequences and feel the foreshadowing of new steps.
The physicality of bodily manifestation shifts. The pattern and burdens of work shift. Our relationships shift. Unwanted, our priorities have begun shifting on their own.
The Weight, The Speed
The coming revisions feel like weights and we feel like swimmers. So very many things to be done, so very many spots on the interior wall of the balloon self need to be pressed against. We’re not large enough to contain all that’s coming. The secretary of the mind urges categorization and lists of challenges, lists of burdens. If we don’t express them, we might forget them. To not forget, each arises again and again in our minds. We fear the consequences of not tending our gardens.
The weight is a careening speed of mind. We move slowly and disorderly because our minds race to comprehend and strategize out ways to victory against the giant shadow figure. Outwardly, we are exhausted without having done anything. Inwardly, giant maps of strategic warfare are weighted down by symbolic pieces and scribbled margin notes. There’s fear and exhilaration – the alternating current of mind rejoices that it’s time for battle, then fears the blood and violence, then rejoices again.
The weight is the weight of ego, as we have imagined the outlines of our self to have a specific shape and dimension, a specific location and characteristics. The weight is the feeling that we must make a massive effort.
The speed is the speed of mind, as we have imagined the outlines of our self to need a new specific shape and dimension, a new specific location and characteristics. The speed is the planning and worry we uselessly conjecture against the massive effort.
The Stillness, The Lightness
Two black birds fly overhead. One is slightly ahead of the other, but they turn as one to navigate between the trees and disappear to the west.
Just down here, a swarm of ants dismantles a moth that died seeking the light. A great opportunity has come upon them this morning out of the passing of the old, and a bustling community effort is underway.
The small limbs of the trees sway gently like a mother’s cradling arms, but the trees themselves are quiet, huge, and still. They sit adoring in a cathedral of azure sky.
The will to self vanishes as we become the trees, the ants, the birds. There are no new outlines of self, for what here is not in ourselves? The mind slows as the maps of battle wither with the inching of the scattered clouds.
The weight vanishes as the true outlines of our self are perceived. What struggle can we have in expanding to be enough to handle the new sequences that life is bringing? All these clouds and this cathedral blue are within us. We have no boundaries.
The mind slows to stillness and a quiet witnessing reclaims and heals our hearts. The pangs of sour bile that rose in our throats are soothed in honey bliss. A quiet smile bubbles up in gratitude of the gifts.
The weight vanishes and our brows become unfurrowed. What new sequence could ever exist? There are no sequences. There is one eternal moment, one eternal instant of now. There is only that one activity that we are engaged in just now. There’s dreams of other moments, but they do not exist.
Perhaps our activities are preparations. Are we not equal to our preparations, we who are made of trees and light and drifting clouds? Of course, there is no burden here. There’s no future self to conjure, and whatever new activity may present itself as needful… cannot be a burden for such as us.
For We Are
For we are life itself. All activities are small transient things; lives arise and subside like our breath.
For we are light itself. We cannot be bound and we cannot be outpaced.
For we are all things and all processes. We are always equal to our challenges… for we are those challenges.
For we are hearts and souls, and flowers who dance with butterflies, and titan trees with green crowns, and sly coyotes who nest in boulders, and boulders who hide sly coyotes. We are the earth, we are the firmament, and we are winds and waters. We are the blessed, and we are the blessings.
May you have a wonderful day, friends.